The following story is fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is strictly coincidental, though historical events or people may provide a starting point for this story.

This story is a work of erotic fantasy intended for the entertainment of adults only. If you are not at least 18 years old, are unable to separate fact/reality from fantasy, are offended by frank descriptions of sexual conduct or if you don't like sexual violence against women, stop reading and go away NOW!

Many of the events and actions in this story are illegal and immoral; some are also dangerous. DO NOT attempt to perform these acts in reality, as they will result in harm to yourself or someone else; the author accepts absolutely no responsibility for any injury resulting from your poor judgement and/or stupidity. If you choose to enact unlawful events as described in this story, you will be prosecuted if you live and the author will cheerfully assist with prosecution... or lynching.

This story is copyrighted 2002 by DarkSider; copy for your own use and enjoyment but do not repost without the author's express written permission.

Note on the numbering of these stories: This story is numbered in Claude Raines' sequence, using his system, since he will post it for me. The numbering format used is <name> <story #> -< serial #> ; <name> is the name of the central girl; <story #> is which story it is, in order of starting; <serial #> is the number of the story in that series if there's more that one. Thus Donna 1-1 is the first installment of the first story about a girl named Donna. Its sequel, if written, is Donna 1-2, whereas Donna 2-1 is another story entirely (though it might be about the same girl; see below). A story named Donna 1A-1 is a variation on story Donna 1-1; Donna 1-3A1 is a variation on Donna 1-3.

This story just sort of popped into my head and has been bugging me for some time, so I decided to write it down in the hope that will make it go away. If this story sounds like something you should do, please run (don't walk) to the nearest psychiatrist.

You have been warned and the author takes absolutely no responsibility for you or your actions.

Act I

That night, I'd gone to the dance to watch the girls and see what happened (there's something about dancing that seems to get women, especially teenage girls, all excited). There was all the usual goings-on: Marcie sneaking into the bushes with Jerry; Mack and Brutus getting thrown out for fighting (again); Marcie hiding in a locked room with Tom; Rose and Shelly having a screaming match that could be heard over the band; Marcie sneaking behind the curtains behind the band's stage with Joe and Harvey; Lori getting thrown out for being drunk as a skunk; Marcie hiding in the broom closet with Mike and Ken; Jim vomiting stale beer down his dance partner's dress before passing out; Marcie hoisting her dress to flash everybody her tits (and everything else), and all the usual teenage dance antics.

After a while, I went outside for a breather and to take a look around to see where Diane had gone. I'd had the hots for Diane since fifth grade, but she wouldn't date me and had deliberately humiliated me several times. Diane liked to tease guys and get them all excited by promising something she had absolutely no intention of delivering, then making them look like fools. I still wanted her body, but knew I wasn't likely to get into her pants unless I caught her at something.

There was the usual drinking in the parking lot, a few kids smoking weed and several cars or vans rocking vigorously. Diane wasn't there, unless she was in one of the cars, but I knew whose those were and she was too stuck-up to be there.

Around in back was the maintenance shop, with an outdoor table for the maintenance men to eat their lunches in a little courtyard area. The area was walled off with bushes along the open side, which had made it a favorite make-out place, but the school had installed a light so nobody used it for that anymore, but nobody checked on it either.

I walk over and peer into the courtyard, and, sure enough, there's Diane laying on her back on one of the benches, though I can't see her face. I wait a minute or two, and she doesn't move. I nudge a can that's lying there; it rattles a bit. Still no reaction.

She's laying in an uncomfortable position: flat on her back with her legs on either side of the bench and her left arm (the one away from the table) hanging off the bench. Her right arm is thrown up over her head, and her legs are spread to either side off the end of the bench, straight out, with her shoes about 2 1/2 feet apart. Her skirt's ridden up a bit, showing some thigh. All this makes me think that she might be passed out, since I'm fairly sure she'd been drinking.

I push through the bushes into the enclosed area, not quietly; she doesn't move. "Diane! You OK?" No response. Shake her arm. "Diane!" Nothing, though she's breathing normally and her pulse is good. I pinch her leg under her skirt. She doesn't react. Squeeze her tits. Still no response. Hand under her skirt and rub her tight, damp dark-haired pussy. That should make her furious, but she still doesn't react.

She's really out. I could do just about anything I wanted. This has possibilities. I check around. Nobody in sight and no place for anyone to hide except in the maintenance shop. I slip the lock on the shop's side door and check inside. Sure enough, there's nobody there.

I prop the door ajar and go back outside; I check around again, still nobody. I sit her up (limp as a wet noodle) and flip her up over my shoulder in a fireman's carry, which puts my left hand on her plush white ass (under her skirt, naturally). Fortunately, she's only about five feet two and maybe 100 pounds, even with her broad hips. Push the door open, carry her in, kick the block aside and quietly close the door. I can't do anything here because the lights would show, but the inner workroom has no windows, several tables, and several old sofas and chairs. I go in there and lay her on her back on the table, with her knees at the edge of the table, feet hanging, legs spread. She's still breathing like she's sound asleep.

Going to the supply cabinet, I put on a pair of the thin rubber gloves that are used for some cleaning jobs and get a couple of rags to wipe everything I've touched. My fingerprints are here anyway, but this way they won't be the most recent ones if anybody ever figures out what happened here. Then I get three pieces of clear plastic tape, throw away the first one (no fingerprints), and put the other two over her eyes so she can't open her eyes. Now it's time to go get the camera from my car, but I put an empty soda can on her chest first.

Five minutes later I'm back. My car's around in a different place, out of sight, but Diane's right where I left her, with the can on her chest. Good, she hasn't moved. I pinch her tits again; no reaction. Hmmmm. Did somebody spike her booze? Peel the tape up and check her pupil; it's constricted like she's been drugged. I put the tape back over her eye, then put my hand under her blue skirt and pinch her ass and pussy, hard. She shifts a little when I pinch her cunt, but not much. Press on her eyes, carefully; she moves a little. Whatever it is, she's out cold. I'll have to watch her pulse and respiration carefully.

Okay. Make sure all the outside doors are shut and locked; put cans in front of the main doors into the shop where they'll fall over if someone opens the door, then close and lock the workroom doors. Showtime!!

I turn on the light over the table she's on and check the lightmeter. There's enough light to show her plainly, but the background will be very dark and indistinct; the photos won't show where she is.

I start by taking some pictures of her fully dressed and posed in different positions. While doing this, I find a ski mask that would hide my face, so I put that on and try taping her eyes open to make it look like she's awake. It's not a good effect, but from a distance it'll pass. The close-ups will have to show her eyes closed, though.

Now it's time to start the fun stuff. I start by unbuttoning her blouse; she's about a B cup. I've seen bigger, but these are still nice. After several poses, some with her eyes open, I remove the blouse. Several more shots, then I lift her skirt. Her pussy mound pushes her panties up nicely and her dark bush shows plainly through the thin, damp nylon. She's got a fairly dense bush for a teenage girl. The pictures will show that beautifully. Good thing I've got lots of film.

I roll her over on her tummy and lift her skirt to reveal her magnificent ass. Diane's been sunbathing, so her body is mostly tanned, but her tight, plush bottom is still milky white with the tan lines from her bathing suit showing plainly through her pale pink panties. I've dreamed about that ass for years.

I can't resist: I rub her ass with my hands. It's just as soft as I'd imagined. Reaching into Diane's panties, I stroke her plush butt, luxuriating in the silky softness. My cock is rock-hard and throbbing. I resist the temptation to finish stripping her and fuck her; I do think about jacking off on her ass. I decide that I want to shoot my first load tonight into her tight pink pussy.